Perpendicular
by KShir
Summary: Perpendicular lines only cross once before continuing in opposite directions forever; will it be the same for Agent Booth and Doctor Sweets? [Reviews and constructive criticism welcome.]
1. Chapter 1 - The Man in the Corner

**Chapter One**

_The Man in the Corner_

"Looks like a late night for you," Dr. Sweets said, opening the door to Seeley's low-lit office from the dark floor outside.

"I- uh- needed to look at the Pelant files one more time before heading home." Booth paused, thinking_ I can't let him get away with what he's done this time._

Lance eyed the open liquor decanter on Booth's desk.

"And you needed Scotch to what? Clear your head?"

"I suppose you could say that," Seeley murmured distractedly, leaning forward and shuffling a file from the pile on the left side of his desk to the right side. Sweets furrowed his brow and settled himself into one of the chairs opposite Booth's desk.

"Why don't you tell me what's really bothering you?" Sweets laced his fingers together, elbows on either armrest of the chair, and brought his hands to his mouth. Booth groaned inwardly; this was Dr. Sweets' "pensive" pose. The doctor would not allow Agent Booth's drinking and dark mood to go unexplored. Booth cast about for a quick falsehood to give the psychologist something to mull over.

"I had a dream," Booth said slowly as his eyes caught sight of a silver photo frame that some unnamed intern at the FBI had given him for last year's secret Santa. It was imprinted with the cliché _Dare to Dream._

"What was the main focus of the dream?" Sweets probed gently.

"Hodgins." Booth winced as soon as he said the name; Hodgins had been on his mind all afternoon. Had the entomologist not strangled Pelant months prior, the serial killer may have moved on to other victims and left him alone. He might even be at home helping Bones plan their wedding right now.

"I see. What was Hodgins doing?"

"He was-" Booth paused, thinking hard for something that would cause Sweets to think, perhaps giving Booth time to end the conversation and head home to his girls. "Bleeding black blood. I tried to stop the bleeding, but I couldn't. Then he kept flying around the room and I couldn't catch him."

"So, in a sense, you were trying to protect Hodgins from bleeding out. Then, would you say, you couldn't get near to him?" Sweets eyed Booth from over his hands, his forehead creased in concentration.

"That's what I said."

"Do you have the waking urge to be close to Hodgins?"

"What?" Booth looked up from his paperwork again, regretting his lie about the dream almost immediately. "No."

"It's completely natural to want to be close to the ones we love, Agent Booth: it is the biological imperative to be near and protect our own," Sweets said simply, as though Seeley had nothing at all to be ashamed of.

"Woah, woah, woah there. I do not _love_ Hodgins. I mean, he's a squint who is just a buddy. I wouldn't want any of Bones' little squinterns alone, either, but they don't appear to be targets." Why couldn't he have predicted that this line of questioning would be blown out of proportion by the young doctor.

"Booth, it is crucial that you understand that you do, in fact, love Hodgins," Sweets said, standing up and pacing Booth's office in frustration. Why was Booth always so damned determined that he had no deeper connection to anyone?

"You love Hodgins like you love Angela, like you love Cam, and yes, like you love Dr. Brennan's interns. These people are your family. Until you learn that you love all of them, you'll never be able to fully eradicate these unconscious fantasies of their being targets!" Sweets slammed his hands down on Booth's desk.

Seeley - who had had enough - stood up and pressed his knuckles into either stack of paper on his desk, drawing eye-to-eye with Sweets. He had forgotten completely that his _dream _had been a cover story for Pelant ruining his engagement with Bones. His face was inches from the doctor's, eyes narrowed to slits.

"That there is your problem. You don't know anything about love."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. You have a semi-serious relationship with an intern and suddenly you think you know everything there is to know about love." Booth paused, breathing heavily in his irritation. "A man doesn't love every significant person in his life. There is usually a number, a small, set number."

"I see," said Lance sarcastically, "and I'm sure you know exactly what that number is right now."

"Of course I do. Five."

"Five?" Dr. Sweets asked incredulously.

"Yes, five. There's Parker, and Christine. My grandfather. Bones. And-" Booth paused, feeling his face reddening. He would rather pull out his gun and shoot himself in the foot right there than admit to the insolent young psychologist that he was, in fact, Booth's best friend and that Booth loved him for that reason.

It seemed, however, that Booth did not need to explain his feelings for Sweets. Sweets eyes widened in realization, and then clouded with uncertainty. Booth was uncomfortably aware that the two of them were still face-to-face, a mere foot separating their noses.

"Me too," Sweets said in a much softer tone, something aching in his voice. It was not the tenor of one guy to another, admitting sheepishly that they were indeed best friends. Booth came to the sudden and sharp realization that Lance was admitting something else entirely, something darker, Booth's meaning misconstrued.

Seeley was, for once, stunned into silence. Dr. Lance Sweets, as young a genius as he was, was vulnerably admitting feelings for him. Something tense and unexpected curled hotly in Booth's stomach; that something was taboo, hidden, and forbidden.

Booth's eyes darkened, and for one maddening moment, he considered leaning forward and brushing his lips against Lance's.

"Booth..." Sweets' mouth was inches from his; he could feel the younger man's breath warming his lips. Booth's pulse thundered in his ears and his heart beat a rapid pattern against the inside of his chest. Without conscious thought of his reaction, Booth's hands flew out, knocking the psychologist back several steps.

"This- I can't. I have a daughter with Bones," he said, frowning at the thought of Brennan home alone with Christine right now. With Pelant still at liberty to play games with his life every second that Bones and Christine spent alone and away left Booth wondering about their safety.

"I understand," Lance replied quietly, straightening his suit jacket and fumbling with the end of his tie. Color had rose high in his cheeks, and unless Booth was very much mistaken, there was a telling shine to his eyes. "I'll see you Monday."

"Sweets," Booth called half-heartedly as the psychologist turned on his heel and walked briskly out of Seeley's office. Booth groaned and threw himself down in his chair. He then folded his arms on his desk and slammed his forehead down on top of them, the bobble-head on his desk shuddering with the force.

Booth sat quickly back upright as the glass door to his office crashed open, leaving an angry-looking Dr. Sweets standing in the door frame.

"Do you realize what you just said to me?" Lance said, taking the room in several long strides. Booth stood up awkwardly, nearly tripping over his rolling chair as the young psychologist stormed right up to him, backing Seeley into the corner in his frustration.

"I don't-"

"_What _did you just say to me?" Sweets asked, exasperatedly.

"I s-said _I can't_," Booth said quietly, looking away from the brown eyes that were boring into his. Seeley did not want to see the hurt that was poorly concealed there.

"And your reasoning?" Lance was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling rapidly and his eyes alight.

"I-" Booth paused. "I don't know." Booth was completely bewildered by Sweets' sudden anger. Sweets continued to move closer to Booth until their chests were almost touching and the heat radiating off of Sweets was felt through Booth's dress-shirt and white tee.

"_You have a daughter,_" Sweets repeated. "It wasn't _I love Dr. Brennan._ It wasn't _I'm not gay._ It wasn't _I don't feel that way about you._ This is not about prior commitments, or sexuality, or feelings. You're only acting as you assume you should do."

"I don't underst-"

"I'll explain later," Lance said, closing the gap between them. Sweets' hips were pushed flushed to Booth's, their chests touching. Both were breathing heavily – Lance in excitement, Booth in anxiety.

Sweets raised his hand slowly, his eyes asking for permission before laying it on Booth's neck. When Booth's eyes registered only bewilderment, fear, and shock, Lance threw caution to the wind and laced his hand into Seeley's hair, pulling their faces together.

Once more, Booth felt Sweets' breath hot on his own lips. The dark, coiling something that had previously taken up residence in his stomach inched its way to his groin. Sweets inched towards Booth, running his nose along the FBI agent's before closing the distance.

When the two men's lips touched, all was lost. There was no office, or view of the metro from the window. There was no heartbroken woman at home, feeding a young girl her dinner. There was no break-up with Daisy. Hell, there could have been no Daisy. The desk, the glass door, the bobble-head, the security cameras all ceased to exist.

What existed were Lance's arms around Seeley's neck as the agent lowered his hands and clawed at the psychologist's hips, drawing their hot bodies even closer together. What sounded was Sweets' murmured groan as Booth drew his tongue along Sweets' soft lips, parting them and entering roughly.

Booth grabbed at Sweets, abandoning all thought, and roughly forced his suit coat down from his shoulders while his other hand expertly loosened the younger man's tie. When Sweets indicated he needed to breathe, Booth pushed his head to the side and slid his teeth along the psychologist's jaw, drawing a breathy keen from Lance. Seeley backed Sweets up to the desk, popping buttons on his shirt two at a time while Lance's hands raked down Seeley's chest.

"B-Booth," Sweets gasped, feebly attempting to push the agent back as he was now grinding his hips into the psychologist's. "Booth – ow, ouch – your gun."

It was as if the sultry, shielding bubble around the two men had not just popped, but exploded into deafening silence. All that was left was the sound of heavy breathing as Booth backed away from Sweets, his face closed into a mask of angry shock, livid with himself for what he had just done.

Agent Booth's brown eyes raked over Sweets. The tousle-haired psychologist was sitting on his stack of papers, shirt ripped open, tie and jacket cast wantonly to the side. The man's cheeks were red and his erection evident. His eyes were slowly recovering from half-lidded in lust to bright with concern as Seeley raised his hands defensively; backing so far up that he knocked a tray of files over.

"Booth?" Sweets said, standing up from the desk. Booth shook his head and raised a hand to silence him. Without another word, Seeley Booth retrieved his jacket from the coat rack by the door and walked silently out of the FBI building, leaving a breathless Lance Sweets reeling.


	2. Chapter 2 - The Secret in the Elevator

**Chapter Two**

_The Secret in the Elevator_

"Agent Booth."

"Not now, Sweets," Booth said, shuffling papers around on his desk to give the appearance of being occupied.

"Agent Booth," Sweets responded, more firmly than before. Understanding instantly that Lance Sweets was not going to let this go, Booth stood up, scooping a file from his outbox and deciding to deliver the papers into the bullpen by hand. He quickly strode out of his office and into the mass of cubicles beyond the doors.

"Agent Booth, we need to speak about our – er – session last Friday night," Sweets demanded as he walked purposefully out of Booth's doorway and behind the special agent.

"Last I checked, Sweets, I haven't been ordered to do therapy with you for over a year," Booth said, ignoring the strange looks from his peers among the desks.

"You know what I'm talking about, Booth."

Booth glared briefly over his shoulder at the young psychologist before noticing his hands were now empty of papers and deciding to try to make a run for the break room. Lance was not going to have it; he was on Booth's heels.

"You know what?" Sweets fired as the two men rounded the corner and into the red-walled room with the enticing smell of coffee. "I think you're running."

"Of course I'm running!" Booth snapped, and the one female agent at the small break room table gave Sweets and Booth a suspicious look before scurrying out to avoid the pending fallout from their fight.

"From what?"

"No – No, you don't," Booth countered irritably. "You don't get to roll all that psycho nonsense over me. Unless you're here for coffee," he said, indicating the bubbling machine, "or to use the microwave, you should leave."

"I'm not leaving, Booth. You've got to face this at some point."

Booth rolled his eyes and groaned, abandoning his attempt at coffee and leaving the room abruptly. As he exited the doorway, the elevator dinged across the hall and he all but ran to make the doors before they closed. To his dismay, Sweets stuck his hand in between them and followed him into the small space.

"And now," Lance said as the elevator shuddered to a start, "we talk."

"For what? Thirty seconds?" Booth smirked and waited in silence for the ride to come to an end. Sweets glared at him for a moment before walking over to the control panel and quickly pulling the stop lever. The elevator ground to a noisy halt in the shaft.

"Sweets, you can't _do_ that!" He tried to move around the psychologist to start the elevator again, but the younger man body blocked him. "Other people need to get around the building!"

"They can take any of the other five sets of elevators," Sweets responded with a shrug. "For now, we're going to talk about what happened Friday." Sweets buried his hands in his pockets and looked calmly at Agent Booth.

"Friday was a mistake." Booth stared intently at the pitted ceiling panels.

"You see, I would tend to disagree," Lance said carefully. "You were clearly enjoying yourself."

"You were wrong," Seeley whispered.

"Pardon me?"

"You were _wrong_," Booth repeated, dropping his stubborn gaze from the ceiling to Sweets' face. "I do love Bones."

"I never said that you didn't." Sweets took a breath and raised his hand when Booth made to interrupt. "I said that your love for Dr. Brennan was not your reason to avoid any – er – extracurricular activities with me or anyone else."

"If I loved Bones, which I do, I wouldn't want any extra-whatsits with anyone else."

"You see? This is what I meant when I said you're only acting as you think you should. Society dictates that there is only room for one romantic interest, and when that romantic interest is invested in a person, all other people in whom other interest might be invested should collectively become invisible to the person in love." Sweets took a deep breath. "The only reason you feel obligated to remain faithful to Dr. Brennan is your abhorrence of deviation from societal norm."

In a quieter voice he offered, "I'm not invisible to you."

"One man is supposed to love one woman, Sweets. The Bible says so," Booth responded. "This isn't right."

"Neither is fornication, multiple partners, children out of wedlock, living with a woman you're not married to," Sweets listed off on his fingers. "Or, for that matter, touching the skin of a pig, eating shellfish, or coming into contact with a woman during her menstruation."

"Alright, alright!" Booth shouted. "That's enough of that."

"What I'm saying, Booth, is that you're denying yourself the social benefits that homoerotic role-play can offer you. I feel that there are previously unexplored parts of your psyche that are waiting to be revealed here."

"So, that's what this boils down to, huh Sweets? I'm another social experiment that you get to practice with," Booth growled, he reached again for the stop lever to get the elevator in motion and end this painfully awkward conversation. Lance blocked him once again.

"Of course not," Sweets said quietly. "But you can have feelings for more than one person. You know that."

"I don't know anything!" Booth retorted angrily. "I don't know how to think anymore. I don't know how to feel."

"Feel _good_," replied Lance simply. He placed an open palm on Booth's chest, causing the latter to sigh softly. Sweets stepped closer to Booth and rested his forehead against the agent's. "_Feel good._"

"Something wrong shouldn't feel good," Seeley murmured, closing his eyes and trying to push back against the torrent of desire whipping through his body.

"Then rationally speaking, this can't be wrong." Sweets smirked slightly.

"That's not what I meant," Booth whispered.

"I know," Lance said and pressed his mouth against Booth's. Seeley sighed heavily and opened himself into the kiss, wrapping his muscled arms tightly around the lean psychologist and pulling their bodies flush against each other. Lance gave a soft moan and allowed his lips to part, the two men's tongues clashing hotly and their breathing picking up rapidly. Lance's hands moved up to either side of Booth's face, cradling his stern jaw, caressing his wired neck, tracing the soft skin behind his ears.

Booth groaned deep in his throat and pushed Lance back against the control panel, grinding his hips into the younger man's and relishing the feel of the friction and tension south of both of their belt lines.

Suddenly, with the noise of grinding metal, the elevator shuddered to a start again. Shocked, both men sprang apart as the doors opened into the parking garage.

"Heh," Booth chuckled, "Guess we flipped the lever back." His face reddened and both men stepped off of the elevator and walked in separate directions to their vehicles.

Back in the elevator, the lever was still pointed to the "stop" position.

(-)

"Booth, is that you?"

"Yeah, Bones," Seeley responded, dropping his keys into the glass bowl by the door. He stretched and stifling a yawn, took off in the direction of the kitchen.

He paused upon reaching the doorway to the kitchen and leaned against the frame, surveying the scene inside. Christine banged her sippy cup imperiously on the surface of her high chair and Bones whisked around the kitchen, throwing toys into the bin next to the fridge, collecting up used dishes from lunch, and setting out plates for dinner.

Her thick chestnut hair was gathered into a knot at the back of her head, exposing the cream skin of her neck. A hunger growled in Booth that had nothing to do with the smell of ham coming from the oven. As she stood at the sink washing child's dishware and full-sized plates and cups, Booth pressed himself against her back, running his nose from her collar to her hair.

"Booth!" Brennan started before leaning back into his embrace. The tension that had existed in the household for the last two weeks melted away between their heated bodies. Booth kissed her neck gently before they were brought harshly back to reality by Christine's shrill cry. She reached her hands out for Seeley who, with a sigh, backed away from Bones and turned to pick up their daughter. The icy tension was back.

"Christine," Booth groaned, pulling his little girl free of her high chair, ignoring the creaking in his back. "What did my girls do today?" He asked, planting a kiss in the blonde curls and spinning the toddler around.

"Christine made a castle with modeling clay," Brennan cooed, eyeing her daughter proudly. "I mean, of course, her spatial reckoning is not fully developed and therefore it looked more like a brightly color loaf of bread, but she is still far more advance than either of the Emma's."

"And you?" Booth asked, knowing what her answer would be. Brennan would shrug and turn back to her work.

"Same thing as every day, Booth," she said coolly, responding exactly as she had every day for the last two weeks; since the broken engagement. Booth had an overwhelming feeling that he had shut a door that may never open again.

The only thing that had not changed was their sex life. Brennan was still as insatiable as she had been prior to the marriage fiasco. It was almost as if Booth had three different partners: work Brennan, who was rational and cool-headed and intelligent; home Brennan who was isolated and quiet; and the Brennan he went to bed with every night, hot and pliable.

"I did," Brennan started, causing Booth to look up hopefully, "have a talk with Angela today."

"Oh boy," Booth murmured. Usually, Brennan only talked to Angela when she was in the middle of some sort of crisis. Booth made a mental note to speak to Angela as soon as he got the chance.

"I have decided to go on a vacation," said Brennan.

"That's great! We finally get to see that place in Thailand?" Anything would be better than being covered constantly by this blanket of ice.

"No," Bones corrected, "I'm going on a vacation. I'm taking Christine with me. Angela suggested that you might like some time alone."

"Alone? What? No." Booth sputtered. "And you can't just up and take Christine."

"Actually," Bones replied, "You'll find that I can." Brennan paused for a moment, and seemed to realize that she was being rather harsh. For an unguarded moment, Booth was allowed to see the substantial pain behind her blue eyes. "It's just for a week or two. I need time to think, too," she said softly.

"But it's not forever?" Seeley asked, an aching pain evident in his voice. Brennan's face softened further. For the first time in two weeks, she kissed him softly on the lips with no impending sexual promises.

"No, of course not."

"When are you leaving?" Booth asked warily.

"Soon. We'll need two days to pack and to arrange the trip with my travel agent."


	3. Chapter 3 - The Dark in the Taxi Cab

**Chapter Three**

_The Dark in the Taxi Cab_

Booth had to admit that competing with the rest of the lab rats to say goodbye to Bones as she left for her vacation with their daughter was not at the top of his list of best days ever. Between Angela throwing dirty looks his way and Cam wringing her hands, peering awkwardly back and forth from him to Brennan like she was watching some nerve-wracking tennis match, Seeley was surprised that he hadn't pulled out his gun and shot a hole through one of them.

When it finally came time that Booth was able to separate his would-be wife from the crowd and place his large, calloused hands on her arms, he leaned in close to her, his brown eyes clouding with earnest worry.

"Please be safe," he whispered anxiously, raising a hand to her chin and forcing her eyes to meet his.

"We will," she said, meeting his gaze for only a moment before looking to the side. He sighed and wrapped his muscled arms around her, tightening them in a vice-like grip. She wound her arms around his waist.

"I love you," he murmured. He thought he heard her breath catch in a sob, but when he let go of her, Brennan quickly grabbed up her suitcase and backpack, and turned away. She seized Christine's stroller and took off into the crowd. Booth felt a hand clap his shoulder.

"Need a drink?" Sweets asked in a heavy voice. Booth turned to nod at the psychologist and noted with lessening interest that Hodgins and Angela had already left. Cam looked at Seeley with something that looked oddly like pity.

"I don't think I've ever needed a drink more," Booth replied honestly. "Are you coming, Cam?"

"No," said the coroner. "With Brennan gone, the lab is going to be a mad house. I really should be getting back to them."

"Suit yourself." Booth shrugged and watched as she turned to leave. Cam paused and about-faced, peering sadly at the agent.

"She is coming back, right Seeley? She isn't running?"

"It's not in her nature to run," Sweets interjected. Cam started as if she had forgotten Lance was there.

"I suppose you're right," replied Dr. Saroyan and hurried off towards the large glass doors that led to the parking lot. Booth watched after her, most stunned at himself than at her question. Did he fail to answer because he himself was not sure that Bones would come back?

_I'm not helpless,_ Booth thought stubbornly to himself. _And if she doesn't come back on her own then I will _make_ her come back._

"Even if it means killing Pelant with my bare hands," he mumbled. Sweets glanced up from his phone.

"What was that?"

"Nothing. Let's grab a drink."

(-)

"Today was… _tense_," Sweets said, taking a drink of his beer. "I thought Angela might take off a heel and stab you. Why is she so mad at you?"

"I imagine it's because of the engagement." Booth winced only slightly at the heat of his second whiskey carved a path down his throat. He sighed heavily and clapped the glass back onto the bar. The bartender didn't ask; he collected the glass and set a new one in front of the burly agent. He seemed to know the protocol with Agent Booth.

"You never told me what happened," Sweets reminded Seeley.

"And I don't intend to," Booth replied sharply. He cast Lance a stern look out of the corner of his eye, but this didn't deter the psychologist.

"You love her. She was quite upset at the break. She doesn't understand it," Lance said, reflecting uneasily on Brennan's stop by his office. "I don't either."

"It doesn't matter if you understand, Sweets. It has nothing to do with you."

"It does now," the younger man countered; he gave Booth a significant look. "Even if you discount the last nine days, we're still friends."

"Nine days? You're counting?" Booth looked only mildly surprised, but said nothing else to indicate that Sweets had mentioned anything about their two heated encounters. He also felt a small sense of relief at Sweets' earnest claim that they were still friends. So much had changed in nine days that Seeley had not been quite sure where the two would pick up.

"It does concern me, Booth," Lance pressed.

"Look, all you need to know is that I saw fit to break off the engagement. That's the end of it," Seeley said firmly, sliding his fourth empty glass away from himself. He felt a knot in his chest; he wanted nothing more than to explain everything to Sweets, to have someone on his side in all of this, but Pelant seemed to be omniscient. Booth wouldn't dare risk the lives of the people in this bar, or Bones' life on her vacation, or Sweets' life to relieve this burden.

"Okay. But you know I'm here if you need to talk about it," Sweets offered, placing a hand on Booth's muscular shoulder.

"I know Sweets," Seeley replied in a thankful tone. Suddenly, Booth's entire demeanor changed. "Are you going to babysit that beer all night, kid?" Seeley threw back another tumbler of amber liquid and grinned easily at the psychologist.

"I am in no rush to get drunk," Sweets said haughtily. "The last time that happened, I ended up singing to Daisy through her call-box." Booth laughed heartily and waved at the bartender.

"Something stronger for him," he said, indicating Sweets. "He'll have what I'm having." He turned back to Sweets and eyed him carefully. "What's the news on Daisy? Where are you at with all of that mess?"

"I can't even pretend to know," replied Lance honestly. "I've accepted that I have no control over that situation."

"Over what situation? You either want to be with her or you don't. You either get with her or you don't."

"It's not that easy Booth, and you know it," Sweets said. He looked significantly at the agent. Seeley winced. There it was again, the elephant in between them. Surely Lance was referring their illicit activities in Booth's office and the elevator while the agent still obviously loved Brennan.

"Wish it were," Seeley murmured moodily. Sweets nodded in agreement and paused for a moment before taking a deep breath.

"I think we should talk about what's going on," Lance suggested. When Booth shook his head vehemently, Sweets pressed on. "Someone is going to get hurt if this isn't outlined. It'll be you or Brennan or," he sighed sadly, "or me."

A small pain twanged its way through Booth's chest, causing him to swallow. He had never considered the consequences to Sweets in their two brief encounters, only to himself. It was abhorrent, especially in his current drunken state, to think of causing Lance pain. Sweets was his closest friend above all else and had certainly experienced enough hurt for a lifetime.

"I don't know what's going on," Booth admitted, staring at the bottom of his empty tumbler; he had long since lost count of the number of drinks he had. He lowered his voice and turned to Sweets. "I want to marry Bones. I want to be a father to my daughter."

"And if she decides that that's not what she wants?"

"Then I don't know. I'll cross that bridge when I get to it," Booth replied.

"But right now, you're neither with her or separated?" Sweets' brow furrowed as he considered the conundrum in front of him.

"We're still having sex," Booth said, ignoring Sweets' furious blush, "but I can't remember the last time she told me she loved me. I don't know if that's still there or if she had just made up some anthropological bullshit to explain why she is continuing to _engage in intercourse with the biological father of her offspring_." Seeley mocked Brennan's deadpan voice. Lance did not know whether to chuckle or to feel bad for Booth.

"And you?" Booth prompted. "Where are you at?"

"I don't know," Sweets said, suddenly cheery. "I've decided to try another therapy method, only this time I'm using on myself."

"It always comes back to being a shrink for you, doesn't it?"

"The new accepted method of psychotherapy is considered goal-oriented. It posits that if a person decides where they want to be, that is where therapy will lead them." Sweets paused to take a drink. "I'm rebelling against my contemporaries here. I'm experimenting with living in the moment. The end will justify the means, if you will."

"Psychobabble," Booth declared drunkenly. "Bullshit."

"It's not!" Sweets countered earnestly. "It's more relaxing than trying to plan every minute of life."

"Life isn't about relaxing," Booth nearly shouted. "It's about yelling! I yell at hockey. I yell at Bones. She yells at me. Christine yells when she doesn't get fed on time. Hacker yells when I forget to file paperwork. Caroline yells at us," Booth chuckled.

"She does do that," Lance agreed, nodding vigorously. He stopped quickly though; it made his head hurt. "Ugh, I think it's time for me to go." He glanced outside at the dark street, lit every few feet by headlights or lamplights.

"Ha! Enjoy roommates with your hangover tomorrow. I'll be snug in my bed in a quiet house."

"Oh, come on, Booth. That's mean. You could at least offer your couch to me," Sweets said dejectedly. Booth laughed and nodded.

"Alright, Sweets, you can sleep on my couch."

"Excellent, let's grab a cab, though. I don't think we'll find it on our own," he chortled. Booth paid the tab as Lance exited the bar to hail a cab. _Perhaps_, thought Seeley blearily as he stumbled out of the bar, _tonight will be the night Sweets gives up soccer for hockey_.

"Come on, Booth." Sweets waved Seeley into the back of the cab with him. Booth slid onto the cracked, dingy leather beside Lance and called his address to the cab driver, whose face was half hidden by the darkness that pressed in all around them… or perhaps hidden by the fact that when Booth closed the door behind himself, the air crackled with electricity.

When his senses adjusted to being nearly blind in the taxi, he realized his hand was almost on top of Sweets' hand and their knees were touching. As if listening to it magnified, Booth heard Lance's breathing speed up slightly when he noticed their proximity. Feeling a becoming-familiar pull in his groin, Booth smirked in wonderment. What was it about the young psychologist that broke down his barriers and sent desire coursing through his heated veins?

Pondering this, Booth let his hand wander over Sweets', brushing his knuckles lightly, before coming to a rest on the younger man's thigh. Lance's breath caught and it did not go unnoticed; neither did the shifting fabric under Booth's calloused fingers. Booth, even more daring in his inebriated state that he was normally, allowed the side of his hand to slide up Sweets' leg until he felt Lance's heat pulsing through the psychologist's slacks.

A gentle moan managed to escape Lance before he could stifle it, but he quickly placed his hand over Booth's. He gave it a squeeze that said plainly, _not here, _before picking up the larger hand and placing it in Booth's lap, taking care to brush lightly over Seeley's growing erection before withdrawing his hand. Booth understood; it wasn't a denial… it was a postponement.

When the cab came all but screeching to a halt outside of Booth's large house, the two men in the backseat rushed to clamber out of the back, their breathing harsh. Booth paused only to fish a few bills out of his wallet and thrust them at the cab driver before following on Sweets heels, up the sloping path.

"Have a good evening, gentlemen," called the taxi driver. As he pulled away from the house, he laughed quietly to himself and removed his ball cap, lightly massaging the place on the right side of his face, where the band had cut into his sensitive scar tissue.


	4. Chapter 4 - The View from Outside

**Chapter Four**

_The View from Outside_

There was silence as Booth entered ahead of Sweets, flipping on the lights as he went. The psychologist followed Booth's heavy footfalls past the living room and into the kitchen where the burly agent threw his keys onto the counter and wrenched open the fridge. He glanced over the top of the refrigerator door.

"Beer?"

"Please." Lance's request barely made it out of his throat; his mouth was so dry from the heated encounter in the taxi cab that he was surprised that it was audible at all.

Gazing steadily at Sweets, Booth's eyes darkened at the throaty response. His large, calloused hands grabbed two amber bottles and set them down on the counter before he began opening drawers, searching for a bottle opener.

As Booth turned to check the contents of the drawers on the far side of the kitchen, Lance felt himself drawn to the agent's broad back; the younger man crossed the tiled floor and pressed his chest to Seeley's spine, relishing in the feel of Booth's muscles tightening before he realized it was Sweets.

"Sweets." It wasn't a question; it was a declaration with much lust behind it. Lance hummed deep in his chest and reached his arms around to Booth's stomach and plucking at the buttons on his shirt. Seeley's hands worked more quickly over the psychologist's and soon the young doctor was sliding his hands into Booth's open shirt and drawing his fingernails lightly down Booth's chest.

Seeley, unable to take Lance's gentle caresses much more, turned and grabbed his hips roughly, pulling the psychologist against him. Instead of clashing his mouth violently down onto Sweets', as was his typical behavior, he made careful eye contact with the doctor as he worked to undo the navy tie around Lance's neck.

"Please," Sweets repeated breathlessly, and Booth allowed his hands to be pushed away as Lance deftly unclasped all of his own buttons and dragged his shirt over his brown tousled hair. Seeley eyed the doctor greedily as the muscles under his pale skin stretched and pulled when his dress shirt was pulled over his shoulders.

"Turn," Booth commanded, seizing Sweets' hips once more and rotating the psychologist roughly on the spot until his back was exposed to Seeley. The agent closed the distance between the two men and brought his hands up under Lance's arms to trace the planes of his abdomen and chest. Booth brought his lips down to Sweets' neck and bit softly before licking over his bite gently, causing the doctor to moan and roll his head back onto Seeley's shoulder. Booth's hand came up to cup the side of Lance's throat and he continued nibbling along the younger man's jaw and neck as he pulled the two of them towards the sofa; the two beers were left forgotten on the counter, sweat rolling down the bottles.

When they finally made it to the soft blue couch that faced away from the foyer, Booth bent Sweets roughly over the back of it, taking a moment to grind his erection into the psychologist while he scraped his nails down his spine.

"Booth," Lance warned, trying to pull away. Seeley realized looking down at Sweets that the younger man was probably feeling incredibly vulnerable, the long pink scars on his back that were the evidence of his childhood abuse shining dully in the light from the above the stairs.

"I'm sorry," Booth murmured, allowing Sweets to stand up, but remaining behind him. He bent slightly and ran his tongue up one of the scars, placing a soft, open-mouthed kiss at the top of it, where Lance's shoulder met his neck. Sweets sighed heavily and pulled away from the agent. He turned to meet his eyes, chocolate linking briefly with coffee and Booth saw the pain there.

"Please let me face you," Lance asked softly and Seeley felt his heart squeeze tightly in his chest.

"Yes," Booth whispered. "Yes, of course."

With that, Sweets melted into Booth's arms groaning hotly when their lips met for the first time. Seeley sucked at Lance's bottom lip and earned a gasp when he bit down gently. Taking some initiative, Lance allowed his hand to travel south of Booth's belt and cup his heavy erection.

"Mmn-" Booth murmured in surprise, pulling the pair around the front of the sofa before throwing the psychologist into the depths of the blue cushions. Sweets grinned mischievously up at Seeley, and the agent felt himself grinning stupidly back. He lowered himself to Lance, relishing in the feel of the doctor's slightly sweaty, hot skin pressed against his own. The psychologist moaned and as their mouths clashed together again, Lance reached down and fumbled with Booth's buckle, zipping his belt from its loops when it came free.

"Sweets-" Booth moaned into the doctor's neck as the younger man navigated past the agent's now open fly and firmly grasp Seeley's length in his hand. He gave an experimental tug and was delighted when Booth gasped and thrust involuntarily into his hand.

"Sweets," Booth repeated, "Sweets. God." Agent Booth seized Lance's hand, wrestling it from his pants and pinned both arms over his head, taking a moment to enjoy Sweets writhing beneath him, panting and wanting before lowering his mouth to one of the psychologist's nipples and biting at it roughly. Lance's back arched off of the couch and he groaned loudly.

"Booth!" Sweets glared up at the older man and fought at his grip on his wrists. He was not very convincing, however, as every time Seeley lowered his tongue to Sweets' neck or chest or abdomen, the doctor whined and mewled.

"Let me go!" Booth merely chuckled and, switching his grip so that one of his large hands restrained both of Lance's, dropped the other to the younger man's beltline, deftly divesting him of his belt and subsequently popping open his pants button. Booth lowered his head and traced his nose around Sweets' navel, earning a sharp intake of breath.

"Now," Seeley said huskily, "if I let your hands go, are you going to behave yourself?" Lance nodded vehemently, which freed Booth's other hand to help yank Sweets' pants and boxers down his thighs. Lance's erection sprang free of his clothes and the psychologist shuddered as the cold air met his skin.

Booth took Sweets in his hand and softly stroked him, spreading the gleaming drop at the tip of his member around the head. Lance arched off of the sofa.

"Booth," Sweets murmured. He reached up for Booth, who lowered his mouth to the doctor's again, his hand straining to pull at Lance's erection between them. Sweets removed his mouth from Seeley's and let his tongue trace the shell of the agent's ear, earning a groan and a soft thrust. "You're still wearing your pants," the doctor reminded him. Booth smirked, and sitting back on his heels quickly, slid his black slacks down his legs before hovering over Sweets again.

"Happy?" He pressed his chest to Lance's again, and this time, their erect members brushed against one another, causing a soft gasp from both. As Booth was slightly taller, however, his next unconscious thrust repositioned him near Sweets' rear, causing the younger man to give a soft "oh!" A blush spread furiously across Booth's head and neck, radiating heat.

Sweets did not give him long to be embarrassed however; in a quick move, he had taken advantage of Seeley's insecurity and pushed the agent back into a semi-sitting position, Lance's legs tangled with his, the psychologist almost in his lap. Booth moaned and clutched at Sweets' thin frame when the doctor's long fingers had snaked in between them and grasped both of their members at once, tugging gently and mixing their arousal.

"Lance," Booth murmured, kissing and licking the younger man's neck in drunk abandon as Sweets continued to pull at the pair of them between their heaving chests and stomachs. Hearing his given name dribble from Seeley's lips so wantonly nearly ended Sweets right then, and taking courage from this pressed the agent back into the arm of the sofa.

Sweets hand did not leave Booth's member as he kissed his way down the agent's body, and mirroring Seeley's move from earlier, circled his nose around the larger man's navel. Lance then pressed the flat of his tongue to the very tip of Booth's member and earned a loud, careless moan from the agent.

"La-ance," Booth repeated in a drawn out groan as the psychologist lowered his mouth completely around the agent's throbbing member. He felt Booth give a great shudder and smirked.

"Sweets-" Booth panted. "Sweets, I can't. I'm going to-" And he did; gripping a handful of the sofa cushions and arching his muscular back completely off of the couch, the agent orgasmed spectacularly, crying out _Lance, Lance, Sweets, Lance_ over and over as he shook with unsuppressed ecstasy.

Swallowing heavily and panting with arousal, Sweets leaned back on his heels and dragged his sweating palms across his own torpid erection. He watched the perspiration gleam on Seeley's heaving chest and saw the dull glint of more of the agent's arousal spilling out of his relaxing member, and with this image burnt into his mind, and with Booth still murmuring _Lance, god, Lance_, Sweets was pushed over the edge, spilling himself onto his own stomach and onto Booth's thighs.

Exhausted, and spent, Sweets disentangled his legs from Booth's, and pulling the throw blanket from the chair next to them, shifted onto the lush cream rug at the base of the sofa. He was surprised when a soft "thump" indicated that Booth had joined him on the floor. He had intended to give the other man space to enjoy his post-orgasm bliss.

Seeley, however, lifted the throw blanket and slid underneath it to Sweets, resting his head on a muscled arm, and his hand on Sweets' hip, and drifting into a drunken, sated slumber.

Lance found himself suddenly unable to sleep, despite Booth's soft deep breaths. He was left wondering if he would face some repercussion upon Booth's awakening. Would the agent remember anything about tonight, or would he wake up, startled and appalled to find Sweets naked and pressed intimately against him?

Lance eased himself out from under Booth's arm and collected his boxers from the floor by the sofa. He pulled them over his thin hips as he watched Seeley roll over in his sleep and slumber on. Sweets cast about for a place he might fall asleep.

He didn't dare go to fall asleep in Booth's bed. That was the bed he shared with Dr. Brennan, the bed in which they made love. He put that thought to rest before he could allow it to hurt any more than it already did. He, sticky and exhausted from his encounter with Booth, could not bring himself to go to Parker's bed, or to the chair in baby Christine's room.

Lance gazed back down at Booth and understood at once that there was no way that he could sleep on either sofa while the agent slept on the hard ground. Even more stunning was the realization that parallel to the inability to find a place to sleep in Booth's house, there was a nagging thought that maybe he wouldn't find a place to exist in Booth's _life_.

Feeling a great sadness, and more than slightly ashamed of himself, Lance redressed and tiptoed out of Booth's house.


End file.
